“My tribe will pay,” Fire Talon said. “Enough blood has flowed between Seneca and Shawnee. We will pay for your promise that no hand shall be raised against this man . . .” He indicated Hunt. “Or lifted against the woman known as Elizabeth, or her children.”
Tin Hoop nodded. “The matter is settled.”
Hunt tried not to show his relief as Tin Hoop took the pipe and smoked, then passed the ceremonial object to Yellow Drum. He took a quick puff and gave the pipe to Counts His Scalps. Slowly, each man signified his approval of the decision by a nod and a careful draw on the pipe. When his turn came, Hunt followed the custom. He did not look into Yellow Drum’s face again, and when the council members rose, he hurried outside to tell Elizabeth of the sacrifice the Shawnee had made to free her from the Seneca threat.
“It is a high price,” he explained when he found her in Sweet Water’s wigwam. “It will strip the village of wealth. I’m not sure I can ever repay so much.”
“My father can,” she insisted.
“It’s not money the Shawnee need,” Hunt said. “They must have rifles. Without them, they will be unable to find food or protect themselves from their enemies.”
“We’ll get them the rifles,” she promised.
He glanced around. “Where are the children?”
“Sweet Water and Shell Bead Girl took them into the forest. I thought it best if they didn’t see their father.”
“And if the Shawnee had decided to hand them over?”
“I wouldn’t have let them. I’d have run away with them.”
“In the middle of the woods—in winter?”
She smiled through her tears of joy. “I’ve done it before, haven’t I?”
“Yes,” he agreed, pulling her against him. “You’ve done it before.”
Chapter 25
May 1765
Elizabeth paused at the edge of the vacant cornfield and looked around at the sprigs of greenery sprouting everywhere. Spring had exploded across the Ohio River Country. The songbirds had returned with the soft winds from the south, and the trees reverberated with the sounds of fluttering wings and melodious chirping. Winter with its ever-present threat of hunger seemed as far in Elizabeth’s past as the memories of slavery in Yellow Drum’s longhouse.
She lifted a small bouquet of violets to her nose and inhaled deeply of the sweet fragrance. Hunt had left them for her as a surprise; she’d found them near her cheek when she’d awakened that morning. He’d left the village before dawn to search for deer. She closed her eyes and brushed the velvety petals against her lips, trying to hold the happiness close.
Tomorrow, she and Hunt and the children would set off for Charles Town, another world. It would mean the end of this interlude of joy that she’d experienced here with the Shawnee. It would be the end of her love affair with Hunt Campbell and a return to the white life she no longer wished for.
They should have departed in March, but Hunt had suffered an accident. He’d fallen through the ice and reinjured the bullet wound in his leg. Several weeks had passed before he’d regained his strength, and by then, the village had been making preparations for the great move that would take them forever from these tranquil valleys and sun-kissed meadows.
“The whites continue to make war on each other,” Fire Talon had said at a village assembly. “French against the English King’s soldiers, Colonial against French, English against Colonial. Always, the Indian is caught between them. Always, Indian blood spills. It is time for us to move farther west, away from these squabbles.”
Hunt explained to her that Fire Talon was taking the tribe to join with some of their Delaware cousins and settle a rich hunting ground near the land of the Menominee, beyond Lake Michigan. “This Ohio Country was promised to the Indian by the English Crown, but those treaties prove as worthless as the rest. More and more immigrants pour across the sea, and there’s no land for them but Indian land.”
“The winters in Menominee country are cold, and the growing season shorter,” Sweet Water added. “But I want Falcon and Star Girl to have a normal childhood without fear of being massacred by militia in their beds. We can learn new ways; there is wonderful fishing, and even wild rice that we may gather.”
“It will mean saying good-bye to many friends,” Shell Bead Girl had murmured. “Only our camp and a few others will go. Many will stay to fight for this land.”
Fire Talon moved close to his wife and took her hand in a rare public show of affection. “For many years, I have been a man of war. Now, I want only peace. I wish to build a new home for my wife.” He flashed a smile at her. “Perhaps a house of logs such as she once had before I burned it. I will relinquish my title of war chief and try to learn wisdom in my later years.”
Fox had urged Hunter to come with them, to open a trading post and to act as go-between with the French and English as the Shawnee learned new customs.
Hunt hadn’t answered one way or another, and Elizabeth hadn’t pressed him. She knew that he longed to return to his father in the far mountains, but she also knew that he meant to use her father’s reward to repay part of the debt they owed the Shawnee.
In the time since Yellow Drum and the Seneca had come and left the village, she and Hunt had not spoken of the future. They had lived each day, each hour, each minute. She had shut away her fears and gloried in the nights of lovemaking and the days of laughter and companionship.
Last night had been particularly poignant. Her cheeks grew warm as she remembered how they had crept from the wigwam, leaving Badger to guard the sleeping children. Hunt had carried his buffalo robe to a spot on the riverbank just beyond the village.
There, they had taken off their clothes and shared a passion that seemed to grow with each joining. Later, she had lain in his arms and watched the stars overhead. The forest had been so beautiful—the heavens so magnificent—that she was at a loss for words. She had only held him and listened to the steady beat of his heart and thought how lucky she was.
He had taken a lock of her hair and braided it with his. “This will make us one,” he’d said. “More than any lines in a book or preacher’s words. Wherever you go, part of you will always belong to me.”
“Most women never know such a love,” she had murmured.
The caw of a crow brought her back to the present, and she gazed across the field that would know no planting this year. Sweet Water and Shell Bead Girl would raise their crops far to the north, and she’d not be with them to dance the harvest home.
“But I’ll keep Hunt’s strength,” she vowed. He had sworn that they would always be linked. Whenever sunset came, she would look west and think of him riding a painted horse in his far-off mountains.
“Mama! Mama!” Rachel cried. “Jamie says we’re going away. Are we? Are we, Mama?”
“We’re not going with Fire Talon to the Menominee,” Jamie said.
Elizabeth stooped, caught her daughter in her arms and lifted her high. “Yes, darling. Tomorrow. We’re going a long way to a big English settlement called Charles Town. It’s where I lived with my mama and my papa when I was a little girl.”
“I want to go with Falcon and my friend Lynx,” Jamie protested. “I don’t want to go to the white town.”
“How do you know?” Elizabeth soothed. “You’ve never seen a white settlement. Charles Town is a wonderful place with wide streets and ships. You’ll see the ocean, Jamie.”
“I don’t want to see the ocean, Mama,” her son argued. “I want to hunt rabbits with my friends. Falcon said he’d take me—”
“You’ll make new friends,” Elizabeth said. “And you’ll meet your grandfather and your uncle and lots of cousins. You’ll both love Charles Town.”
“Will I truly, Mama?” Rachel demanded.
“Yes, bug, yes, you will,” Elizabeth said.
“Oh. It’s nice there?” her daughter persisted.
Elizabeth kissed the tip of Rachel’s nose. “Yes.”
Jamie folded his arms stubbornly
across his small chest. “If Charles Town is so good, Mama—then why are you crying?”
Three days later, Hunt nudged the bow of the canoe against a rocky bank and jumped out to steady the boat while Elizabeth and the children disembarked. Fire Talon had sent canoes downriver with them; now they would continue east on foot with four men as escort. Badger remained in the village with Falcon. Hunt had left the big dog with Fire Talon’s family as his promise that he’d return with the rifles and trade goods to pay for Jamie’s ransom.
John Black Hat, a Delaware trader, was traveling to the settlements to buy supplies. With him was his son, a young brave named Strings His Bow. Their other companions were two unmarried Shawnee warriors whom Elizabeth knew from the camp. Cedar Bark and Red Shirt had agreed to go to Charles Town and help Hunt transport the guns they hoped to purchase for the new Shawnee village.
Leaving the river was hard for Elizabeth. The last sight of the canoes and their friends brought a lump to her throat. I should be excited about going home, she thought. I’m going to see my father and my brother and sisters again. But she knew that each step toward the sea would bring her closer to a final parting from Hunt.
Jamie trod close on Hunt’s heels. Rachel had walked a long way before she’d asked to be carried, but Hunt hadn’t let Elizabeth pick her up. Instead, he’d wound a red wool sash into a sling and tied her to his back.
“I can take her,” Elizabeth had argued.
“You’ll get your chance,” Hunt promised. “It’s a long way to the coast.”
“I’m not going to be toted like a papoose,” Jamie proclaimed. “I’m going to walk, and I’m going to shoot a rabbit for the evening meal.” He pulled an arrow from his quiver and notched it on the bowstring. “Maybe a deer instead,” he said. “A big buck with a hundred points.”
“Yearlings make better eating,” Hunt said to the boy.
“I could hit a deer,” Jamie boasted.
“You have a good eye,” Hunt agreed. “You’ll make a fine hunter, but we don’t need meat now. A real hunter never kills anything unless he’s in need.”
Jamie trudged in thoughtful silence for a while. “If we’re attacked by wolves, I’ll shoot them,” he said.
Hunt nodded. “Good idea. You watch for wolves.” He rubbed his jaw in the way he did when he was amused but didn’t want to let on.
Elizabeth turned her head away to hide her smile when she saw Jamie imitate his motion perfectly. I wish, she thought. I wish—
Her reverie was shattered by the boom of a musket.
“Get down!” Hunt shouted.
Jamie spun around and Elizabeth grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the shelter of a large beech tree. Another shot rang out and Red Shirt groaned. The warrior staggered to his knees, but managed to raise his musket and fire toward the tree line where the ambushers lay in wait.
Hunt dragged Rachel off his back and thrust her into Elizabeth’s arms. Neither child made a sound, but Rachel’s face was ashen with terror. “Down,” Hunt repeated.
A volley of shots peppered around them. Cedar Bark and Strings His Bow returned fire. Hunt waited and watched, his dark eyes grim as he surveyed the ridge above them.
“Who is it?” Elizabeth whispered to him. “You said we were in friendly territory.” Jamie tried to put his head up to look, and she shoved it down.
Hunt silenced her with a motion. He glanced at John Black Hat. The Delaware held up one hand, then opened and closed his fingers twice.
Red Shirt pushed himself up on his hands and knees and began to crawl toward a fallen log. Elizabeth clutched Rachel against her chest and held her breath as the wounded warrior managed to cover a yard, then two. He had nearly reached cover when another rifle sounded from the high ground. Red Shirt sprawled forward and lay still.
“Half-breed!”
Elizabeth inhaled sharply. It was Yellow Drum’s voice.
“Give me my son!”
“Shh,” Hunt warned Elizabeth. “Stay where you are.” He crouched down and signaled to John. John stood and fired. Immediately, several flintlocks boomed from the trees. Hunt sprang forward, leaped across the open space and grabbed Red Shirt. With a heave, he threw the wounded brave over his shoulder and dashed for cover amid a hailstorm of lead.
Elizabeth went icy cold.
“Is it my father?” Jamie demanded. “Is he shooting at Hunter?”
“Shh,” she admonished him. “Keep still.”
“I want to see,” the boy insisted.
Elizabeth shoved him down into the leaves and pinned him with her knee. Rachel wormed closer; Elizabeth could feel her trembling.
“You are brave!” Yellow Drum yelled. “I have come for my slave and my children. You have no part of this. I give you your life, Hunter of the Far Mountains!”
“There’s none here belongs to you,” Hunt shouted back. “You were paid in rifles for the little ones!”
“My son is not for sale!”
“If this Shawnee dies, you’ve bought yourself a war, Yellow Drum,” Hunter called out. “You gave your word. You smoked the pipe.”
“Look behind you, half-breed!” the Seneca shouted.
Elizabeth’s hopes sank as she looked toward the bottom of the slope. At least a dozen Iroquois warriors in full war paint moved from the underbrush.
“Surrender your weapons!” Yellow Drum ordered.
Cedar Bark swore a foul oath in French.
“You have four guns,” Yellow Drum called. “We have twenty and three! Surrender and we will let you walk out of here.”
“To a torture fire!” Cedar Bark shouted back. He began to sing loudly in what Elizabeth could only imagine was a Shawnee death chant.
Elizabeth stood up. “No!” she cried. “I want no deaths on my soul.”
“Return to my longhouse,” Yellow Drum called to her. “You may stay with my children and serve my wives as before.”
“Father,” Jamie said. “Father, I am here!”
“Come to me, son,” Yellow Drum commanded.
Jamie looked at Elizabeth. She shut her eyes for a second and steeled herself for what must come. “He is your father,” she whispered.
“You sold me to the Shawnee for rifles!” Jamie said. His small voice rang clear in the still forest. He notched an arrow in his bowstring. “You’re a bad man. I don’t like you anymore. Go away! Leave my mother alone!”
Yellow Drum laughed. “Your cub has teeth!”
“Put that bow down!” Elizabeth ordered. “He is your father. You will not shoot him.”
“She has taught the boy honor,” Hunt shouted. “What do you teach him, Yellow Drum?”
“This is none of your affair!” Yellow Drum roared. Clad in only a loincloth, weapons’ belt, and moccasins, he stepped from the trees and strode downhill toward them. One half of his face was painted black, the other half yellow. A war club hung over one shoulder and a pistol was thrust into his belt. His shaved head was oiled, his scalplock twisted into a knot on his crown. “Throw down your rife and walk away,” he yelled to Hunter. “I make a gift to you of your life.”
Hunt shook his head. “I can’t do that.” He held his rifle sight dead-on Yellow Drum’s heart.
“Please!” Elizabeth called.
“This woman is nothing to you!” Yellow Drum said.
“Will you let them walk?” Hunt asked, motioning toward John and his son.
“You may all go,” Yellow Drum agreed. “All but the woman and my children.”
“Go,” Elizabeth pleaded with Hunt. “Please, go. You tried. No one could ask more of you. Save yourself.”
Yellow Drum lowered his rifle until the barrel pointed directly at Hunt’s belly. Elizabeth’s mouth went dry as she saw the cruelty on Yellow Drum’s face.
Hunt didn’t flinch, and he kept his weapon aimed at the Seneca leader.
“You have proven yourself to be a man of dishonor,” Hunt said with a lazy grin. “Why should I trust you now?”
“I don’t want you—I
want them,” Yellow Drum answered.
“Shoot him,” Cedar Bark urged. “Shoot the faithless Seneca.”
“Yes,” Yellow Drum agreed. “Shoot, and taste Iroquois revenge. My warriors will take you apart inch by inch. Shoot me, half-breed, and you and your friends will beg for death.”
“Just go,” Elizabeth begged. “He won’t hurt Rachel and Jamie. Save yourselves while you can.”
Jamie threw down his bow and ran to his father, his small fists flying. “Go away!” he cried. “Go away! I don’t love you anymore!”
Yellow Drum ignored him. His finger tightened on the trigger of his rifle. “Decide, half-breed. Life or death?”
“Show yourselves!” Hunt shouted to the remaining Seneca. “Come out and show us who follows a leader whose words cannot be trusted.”
Hard-faced Iroquois braves moved from the forest. Cedar Bark took a few steps back until he stood near John Black Hat. Both Shawnee and Delaware held their guns ready to fire, as did the Seneca.
“You follow Yellow Drum?” Hunt called in bad Iroquoian. “You are honorable men, yet you follow Yellow Drum?” He spat into the leaves in a gesture of utter disdain. “I spit on his honor.”
“Hunt, no!” Elizabeth said. Black despair tore at her vitals. Hunt was going to die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
“Fight me,” Hunt challenged Yellow Drum. “Fight me, hand to hand. If you can kill me, take the woman and her children. But if you take her, you must make her your wife.”
Yellow Drum laughed. “If I kill you, I will do as it pleases me.”
“If you kill me, my friends go free,” Hunt added.
“Why should I agree to such an offer?” Yellow Drum demanded. “Why should I risk my life when I hold you in the might of my fist?”
Hunt made a show of glancing around at the Seneca warriors, those in front of him, and those at his back. “So that men will continue to follow you,” he answered quietly. “So that the Seneca will not turn away at the name of Yellow Drum . . . and . . .”
“This amuses me,” Yellow Drum said. “And what?”
Sundancer's Woman Page 30
